i'm sure most if not all of us here have had to face down this bastard. i'm not talking about the well-meaning friend who doesn't understand where your plot is going or the parent who shows just how much they don't understand you buy glancing at your poem & asking "but what is it trying to say?" or even the high school teacher you had who hated everything you wrote and never gave you a grade above C no matter what. no way, i'm talking about the Critic, the evil little gremlin that lives in your head and whispers things like, "what makes you think you can be a writer?" "who do you think you are to try to put that into words?" "this is crap. you suck." and "no one will ever want to read that! " quite frankly, i hate the little son-of-a-bitch. such a pity there's no such thing as mental duct tape, because he needs a strip of the stuff right over his foul little anthropomorphically personified mouth. he's part of you, so you can never get rid of him. no, the best you can hope for is to keep him busy or shut him up for a little while so you can write in peace. maybe tomorow i should work on something else. do some freewrites, maybe a poem, anything but my current project. keep the little bastard confused. it's time to "take the trash out." either that, or it's time for me to take my dried frog pills so the voices will go away.